


Kingdom

by RandomFanNobodyLikes101



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fast burn? Opposite of a slow burn, Fluff, Kinda Dark, Multi, Quick Burn, Slow Updates, What am I doing?, oh no, smut later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:20:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomFanNobodyLikes101/pseuds/RandomFanNobodyLikes101
Summary: There had always been two companies ruling over the world, for as long as you could remember. No one didn't know them. How could they not?The preferred company, or group, or whatever the hell one would call it, was the one owned by the Creator and his friends and allies. It was a beacon of hope.The other, feared and hated, was ruled by the Destroyer and Nightmare. They sought out hope and positivity, and destroyed it.It would be just your luck that your parents had forced you to work with them under the Destroyer and Nightmare, wouldn't it?There ain't no sarcasm there. Definitely not. Nope.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, while Ink an such are mentioned I'm the tags, they probably won't be involved in the romance part. Unless you guys want that?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short. That what this chapter is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 - In which we don't meet any skellies just yet.

The window before you always made you extremely nervous, and somewhat scared. It couldn't be opened, thank god, but it was _glass._ Easy to break.

It wasn't a secret that people in this company were prone to violence, and would do something drastic if it meant securing their position. It was simple, really, to anyone working there. If anyone was going to get promoted, they could replace you. They could be a threat to your position. If you weren't better than someone, you were useless to the higher-ups. If you're useless to them, your life is forfeit.

Though you supposed any reasons as to why anyone would feel threatened by _you_ was probably a ridiculous one. You weren't that high up, weren't important at all. All you did was wash the ludicrous amounts of dishes everyone used. No one wanted the job, and no one else would do it- you were somewhat safe. You wouldn't get replaced or promoted, and no one would have reason to kill you.

Still. The window just above the sink and counters was at least thirty stories up, and if anyone decided to push you from it, you'd die. No doubt about that. To be honest, you'd probably have a heart attack the second you felt yourself being shoved, and die before you hit the ground. Not really comforting, you supposed.

Standing there all day got tiring. Nobody helped you, even when they were supposed to. So you stood, for as long as seven hours, haunched over the sink and scrubbing dishes that had who knows what on them. Occasionally, you'd move to another floor or to another eating area, and continue cleaning there, instead. You would love to say they just had scraps of food on them. You really would. But considering the people who's dishes you were cleaning, there was probably things you didn't want to know the names of on these dishes.

The door across the room, the only entrance to the room, was suddenly flung open. It hit the wall hard enough to leave a small, circular hole from where the door knob had slammed into it, and would've swung shut again had someone not barged in. Swearing and shouting, in stormed your boss. Also, your Dad, and the guy with the highest position in the cleaning department. 

What your mother saw in the guy was beyond you. Maybe, just maybe, he had been better looking when he was younger. Now, though? In his older years, he was a wrinkled old man with almost no hair on his head. What was there was a greyish white, greasy, and did nothing to conceal his shiny, sweaty head. His eyes were a faded blue, a colour that would have been nice to look at if not for the hatred, anger and disgust that they shone with. He stood there, just watching you for a moment, in his grand black suit and vibrant red tie. 

He was probably judging you, standing there in an old, worn and slightly torn black shirt, and white and grey camp shirts that reached your knees. Your hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, and soapy bubbles dripped down your arms. Your eyes were most likely blood shot.

He scowled after a minute or so, stalking around the large table in the center of the room, and came to stand by your side.

" _This_ is what you wear? Good god. ____ I don't care if you're just a cleaner. You are _my_ daughter, and need to act like it, and dress like it. Hurry and finish up. There's only a few dishes left, and then you're done for the day. I will check up on you tomorrow, to make sure you are wearing clothes that are at least somewhat decent. Understood?"

You just sighed and nodded, repeating his last word, and returned to your work, ignoring the feeling if his eyes burning holes into the side if your head.

There was no point in arguing. Your Dad always got what he wanted. If he had to use blackmail, so be it. If he had to hurt someone, so be it. If he had to force his daughter to be exactly like him, force her into obedience, then so be it. He would do anything he had to. You just kept your head down and did what you were told. It was that, or pay the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need names for the companies.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I can also see how many mistakes there probably are. Let me know where they are?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a feeling that the person who walked in, is a little more cross than they're letting on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was there swearing in the previous chapter? 
> 
> Cause there is in this one.

It occurred to you while working, that your life was probably be one of the most boring ones out there, as well as one of the scarier ones. And would most likely stay that way, too. Clean the dishes, change room, repeat. Worry about dying, constantly, even if your position meant it was unlikely.

It wasn't a sudden epiphany, either. No, you'd realised that when you had first started work, forced into it by your Father. You just remembered that thought, in a way.

Sometimes, when you felt especially tired and fed up with the thought, you contemplated throwing yourself out of the window in the room you ended the day in front of. The window that stood there as if to say, 'Hey, your works over soon. Just blister your fingers cleaning those dishes first, rinse and repeat.' To throw yourself out. . . and just end everything. To get away from the repetitive days, away from all the stress and fear.

You snickered at the previous thought of talking dishes. What would they say? Would they shout at you not to put stuff on them, or shout the opposite? Complain about being partially drowned in order to be cleaned? It was an amusing thought. 

_*You always tried to distract yourself, didn't you?_

Glancing back up at the window, you frowned. Whenever you felt the urge to throw yourself from it, to end the days that never seemed to end, you always found that you couldn't. You were a coward, after all. Then again, wouldn't everyone be scared of that? Of having everything. . . just end? Come to an abrupt stop, after that horrifying fall? Spinning, the sound of your own screams, the wind shrieking past. . . and then darkness? Was that what is was like to die? Just eternal darkness? Or would you be reincarnated? Or something else? The thought made your legs weak, and your breathing quicken.

Shaking your head slightly, you reached into your pocket, and threw your phone onto the counter, connecting it to your headphones as you went, which rested around your neck. You didn't put them on, however, and instead turned the volume up as high as it could go. Putting on headphones _could_ potentially be risky. Not because someone would sneak up on you and assassinate you, though. That was a risk, yes, but not the one you were currently worried about. You just didn't want to have a near heart attack due to embarrassment. Or to face the abuse that could come with being found singing.

Once, when you'd had them on as a kid, Father had walked in on you belting lyrics out at the top of your lungs while listening to the music. He had promptly tore them off of your head, kicked your tiny legs out from underneath you, and informed you that your singing was horrid. That you didn't need to sing, anyway. It was pointless in his eyes. Didn't do anything useful. All you had to do was sit and look pretty. So, with them off, you could stay more aware of your surroundings. More aware of your Father approaching. 

Well, that was the plan, anyway.

_____________________________________

You shouldn't be surprised. You really, _really_ shouldn't. But you were. Your Father, for all your life, had been a strict man who followed even stricter schedules. He'd always give some warning about something, and let someone know if they had to do something later. That way, that person would be able to get everything done with few problems. He gave forewarning, you supposed. If you ignored that forewarning and didn't prepare, you'd most likely loose your job. Of course, the one time he didn't give said forewarning, it was you he didn't give it to. And of course, it was something important he 'forgot' to tell you. You really wanted to believe that he just genuinely didn't know, but found it really hard to. He was the type of man who would watch people suffer with a smile on his face, after all.

Because, after singing loudly to 'Chainsaw' and several other songs while cleaning the dishes, you reached the end of your playlist. Wiping your hands on your shirt, you had gone to reach out to click into another playlist, when, out of nowhere, someone started clapping slowly. Though, before turning around, you were starting to question the clapping part. It was more of a. . . clacking sound? It rung out in the silence, sounding unnaturally loud. 

But once you had turned around, starting to curse whoever it was, loudly, you froze and your sentence just died in your throat as it constricted with the sudden wave of fear that crashed over you.

"Who the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhaha ohholyshit _hi_."

Standing there, leaning against the door and looking vaguely amused at whatever it was that tried to force itself from your mouth, was a skeleton monster.

Of course, it wasn't him being a monster that shocked you. No, at least half of your. . . acquaintances were monsters. In fact, almost everyone who worked in the company was a monster. Only a few workers were human, and they didn't get too high up in the company. They were weak, and as such, looked down on.

No, it was the Skeleton part that had you equally shocked, terrified, and awed. While The Destroyer and Nightmare led and ruled this company, the only people they actually gave access to almost _everything_ were a few other skeleton monsters. Aside from them, no other skeleton monsters resided in the main building. So, in short, whoever this monster was, he was without doubt incredibly strong, and incredibly important. Someone you really didn't want to fuck with.

This particular skeleton monster seemed to favour black and white clothing. White, mostly. He wore a very comfortable looking white jacket, with a shit load of fluff about the hood. You . . . think he's wearing a plain black shirt underneath it, but with the weird ass white fabric in an 'x' over his chest made it hard to be sure. Other than that, you refuse to look any lower. You do notice a strange red mark under one of his eye sockets when you briefly made eye contact, before you dropped your gaze to the floor. The mark went with the matching red eyelight that was staring you down. The other was just a faded grey, almost white colour.

He just stood there for a few moments, watching you, and there was an extremely long silence stretching out. Eventually, pushing himself off the doorway, he walked further into the room, and you went deadly still. A lesson well learnt in this place was not to antagonize people with more power than you. It was a death wish, really.

But all he did, was grab a chair from the table, and drag it over to one of the opposite corners. He sat down and returned to watching you silently, folding his arms over his chest. Or, ribcage? You weren't too sure.

After fidgeting for a moment, torn between asking if he needed or wanted anything, like for you to leave, and just doing your work, you decided with the latter. And so, began the longest, most stress inducing hour of your life. It probably made you stress away half of your lifespan.

About forty or so minutes of just silence passed, in which you just stood there and washed the dishes. And around this mark, you started softly singing again, after clicking into another playlist. He wouldn't have clapped if it wasn't good, right? He would have just told you to shut up. People in this place were like that. Hopefully it wasn't a sarcastic clap.

The skeleton didn't say anything else, so you gradually grew in volume as you continued to sing.

The atmosphere was ruined when the door was flung open. It hit the wall, and punctured another hole; the one from yesterday had been fixed by a monster with a little control over time magic, you believe. But then, was it really another hole? Or the same one?As he had promised the other day, your Father stormed in. Like ever other day.

 _Unlike_ every other day, he seemed more pissed then usual. Which, meant he would probably hit you if you had any hint of sarcasm in your voice. And that sucked, really, because you hated your Father just as much as he hated you. Meaning, it would be just about impossible for you _not_ to throw sarcasm at him.

He was already fuming the moment he walked in.

"For crying out loud, you idiot! What did I tell you about that?! You sound horrible!"

He marched over to you, coming to a stop with his arms folded over his chest. With a sigh, you reached over to pause the music, and turn the headphones off. Of course, though, your Father wouldn't simply leave with that. He had to crush your low self esteem even further, in an attempt to make himself higher than you. 

_*It always worked, didn't it?_

" _That_ is what you consider nice? Or did you just not listen to me at all?! I swear, you're the most disobedient, stupid, kid out there!"

That hurt more than what it should have. You weren't a pet or a slave. And so what if you didn't want to wear fancy dresses that were way too tight and hugged all the wrong places, or fucking ridiculous amounts of make-up?! You're not a whore trying to impress every male who sauntered past you! The tight green shirt and black leggings you wore were uncomfortable as it was!

"Oh I'm sorry I'm not a fucking whore! Maybe you should go fuck some other bitch and have a daughter that will be!"

You immediately regretted opening your mouth. His face went red and you could see the anger and hatred in his eyes, in such large amounts they almost glowed. His jaw clenched and he scowled.

The next second, you were reeling back, hand cupping your left cheek as pain erupted through it, and stars danced in your vision. It stung, horribly, and you weren't even sure if you could say that it stung, feeling that it would be the wrong word to use. Either way, it hurt, a lot. 

"You good for nothing bitch! You wouldn't even be here, were it not for me! You should be thankful! I should-"

His arm reeled back again, and you flinched, waiting for another hit. It wasn't uncommon for him to do this, either. To beat you into obedience should his negative comments fail to do it. And you knew it would happen the moment you opened your mouth.

"Mr. ____."

While sudden and unexpected, and startling, the voice that echoed through the room was oddly pleasant to the ears. It wasn't too high, or too low, and rather hard to describe. It sent shivers down your spine.

You expected your Father to do what you yourself had done. To whirl around and spit insults and curse words. He didn't though, and you realized, as recognition flashed across his face, that your Father was probably far more important than you realized, and had met people of a far higher position. Met people a lot more dangerous than himself.

He went pale, ripping his arm out of the air and tucking it against him side. His breathing became shallow for a moment, and his pupils contracted with fear. Then, just as quickly as those emotions burst into being, he composed himself and turned towards the skeleton in the corner.

"Mr. Cross? What a surprise. I do hope my daughter didn't annoy you, or cause any trouble."

"None at all. I was just listening to her sing, is all. Not many people sing so well. But, surely you have better things to do, than yell at someone trying to do their work?"

Father stuttered, face flushing red again. He glanced to the side, clearly gritting his teeth. Realizing that what he was doing could be considered rude, he quickly returned his attention to 'Cross' fixing his gaze on the wall beside his head.

"My apologies. I was just . . . hmm. I was finishing up my work on this floor, and overheard her. Her singing may be amazing, but many others . . . don't agree with that notion. I don't want her coming to any harm, is all."

_*Bullshit_

"Then why hit her, and carry on about her clothes?"

"She must be taught somehow. As for the clothes, that is more for her own personal gain than mine. It wouldn't do to look . . . anything less then professional, after all, and looking like that won't improve anyone's impression of her."

The two went silent, staring at each other. You could _feel_ the tension in the air, and in some stupid, weird attempt of ignoring it, you turned around and continued washing and drying the few dishes that remained. You could feel them shift their attention to you for a moment, but then they were back to their staring contest. 

"Well. Mr. Cross, _____, I shall attend to matters elsewhere. Again, my deepest apologies for interrupting."

Your Father practically flew from the room, not that you blamed him. Talking to anyone with a higher position in the company was a dangerous, terrifying thing after all. 

It hurt a little that he was so quick to leave you alone in a room with one of the strongest people in the company, though. No matter how much he hated you, and you hated him, he was still your Father. Still family. You couldn't bring yourself to ignore that, no matter how hard you tried.

Not long after, Cross left as well, leaving you to finish work in silence, and with a horrible sense of nausea.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is there to gain?

You weren't sure whether to feel unnerved or flattered. Perhaps you should be upset or angry. The skeleton, Mr. Cross as your Father had addressed him, visited again and again. That first day, after he'd shown up, you'd thought it would be a one time thing. That he was simply curious as to who was singing. That he wouldn't show up again. But he did. Of _course_ he did. 

At first, he would only seem to show when you were singing, so you figured you could just sing at a different time, that way he would leave upon realising you weren't singing yet, or already had. But that plan crashed face first and went up in flames, mentally screaming in agony.

He showed up anyway, even if you didn't sing.

Sometimes silent hours would pass before he left without a word, just before your day ended, and you went back to the floor your room was on. Other days, he would wait in the hall without you knowing, and would stay there until you began singing. Eventually, you gave up trying to avoid him, and just returned to what you usually did. A month passed like this, and during it your Father didn't make an appearance once, not after you informed him that the skeleton was continuing to show up.

You were starting to stress over the matter. What could he possibly hope to gain by showing up and watching you? You weren't special. There wasn't any grand secret you kept, nor did you have any artefact or other treasure hidden away. Nobody regarded you as important, and killing you wouldn't really accomplish anything. Fuck, your singing wasn't even that good! People had made that clear on numerous occasions. What the _fuck_ did he want from you? 

_____________________________________

You were in a particularly foul mood. While doing the never ending dishes, you muttered profanities directed at your fellow workers, a group of monsters that had shown up in the lounge room of the floor you lived on, your job, and of course, your Father. A few curses were aimed at the people who owned the company, too. Not the smarted idea, considering who they are and how many people are loyal to them. 

The words you hissed about Father, though, were probably far more colourful and violent than those towards anyone else, including graphic descriptions of how you'd like to pull the stick out of his ass and beat him to death with it.

"You've got some surprisingly nasty words to spit there, don't you?"

It took every ounce of your mental strength to stop the plate in your hand from flying at the skeleton behind you. Unfortunately, you weren't able to stop the quiet sound of surprise from escaping you, nor could you stop yourself from shivering at the sound of his voice. 

"I-I, I-I'm, uhm, s-sorry? I think? W-wait, that's not- , _fuck_ "

_*What the fuck was that supposed to be?-_

He just chuckled, something you think he did rarely, and walked over to grab a chair, drag it over to- he's not moving to the corner. For once, he's actually sitting at the table in the center of the room, fingers laced and resting his chin _(mandible?)_ on them. He's. . . a lot closer than what you were used to, and it was somewhat unsettling. Other than that, 'Mr. Cross' is just sitting in silence as per usual, and watching you. And as per usual, you don't know what to say, and as such, return to furiously scrubbing at what ever is on the plates and bowls.

You always wash the knives, forks and spoons first. Better to get the smaller things out of the way first. Besides, the horrid red mass on the side of the plate seems cemented there and you really don't want to know what it is. Because it really looks like-

"I'm curious about the monsters who were on your floor. You seem rather pissed at them."

You made a face at the memory, and his inquiry. You really didn't want to talk about them. Or to him. But ignoring him, or even attempting to avoid the question would be the stupidest things you could ever try. Lying to those more powerful than you was a death wish, after all.

When you finally worded things in your head and spoke, you voice was far steadier than what you were expecting it to be. The small bubble of pride was quickly smothered by the awkward string of words that you spat out. The words that weren't at all what you planned on saying.

"Oh, uh. Yeah. So, a group of monsters from the. . . I can't remember what they're called, but they're the ones who go around collecting taxes and stuff. Except, we've already payed everything to them? So, really, they had no reason to be there. But they came in, acting like they owned the place and all. The group kept, uh, talking with everyone, continuously, though I had no idea why, at first. So I went over to ask about it, and they said something about being bored. They said some other crap and eventually left when they realised that everyone was just about done with their shit."

"Kinda vague, considering how much you were swearing just before. What did they say?" 

"They offered to pay for us for the next few months if we let them do what they wanted on our floor. I'm just annoyed, because they were really persistent, I guess."

He huffed, and you began sweating slightly. Why the fuck did he want answers so bad? From you, of all people? Could he just, leave, and go ask someone from the floor you lived on? It really wouldn't be that hard for him to find the floor, either. You were the daughter of the Head of The Cleaning Department, after all. And lived on the same floor as him. You wanted him to leave so you could go back to doing your job. Jesus fucking Christ, is that too much to ask for?

"And how did they ask for it?"

"They just asked nicely?"

If he was purposely trying to pressure you with the ensuing silence, he was doing well. You weren't facing him, so you couldn't see his face, and you weren't sure if you felt grateful for that or not. But what if he wasn't at the table anymore? What if he was standing behind you, ready to kill you for being annoying? For not answering? Or was he. . . just staring? Judging?  
The thought of him Judging you sent an irrational jolt of terror through your system, and you didn't know why.

"Th-they were f-flirting. Uh, I didn't realize until I went over, and I'm pretty sure a few of my coworkers want to hurt me for it. T-thats because they actually starting touching people when I went over? This. . . ahm. O-one of the monster started touching me, a-and, t-the. . . the rest of them s-started touching t-the others? Ack. . ."

He didn't say anything in response, just hummed, and you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not. You heard him move a little, and sigh, but then the ringtone set for your Father burst from your phone just as you finished the last plate, and drained the sink.

Scowling slightly, you dried your hands on the bottom of you baggy black shirt, before jabbing the answer button with more force than necessary, and practically stabbing the speaker button. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and 'caring' and you swear your veins started burning with the rage the flowed through them. 

"Hey sweetie. I know you're working right now and all, but I've sent someone up to finish that for you. I need to talk to you about something important, all right? When they show up I need you to get back here straight away. Alright, kiddo?"

_*It's only caring because the skeleton is here, and he knows. He's always able to tell when the phone is on speaker. Fucker._

"Yeah, sure. Though I really can't see why you couldn't let me finish first."

"Its a really important matter! And besides, I just don't want you working yourself too hard. Isn't a dad allowed to care for his daughter?" 

His voice was laced with fake despair and concern, and you couldn't help but mutter about how he was only now worried, and that the past few _years_ of doing a job that was meant to be done by multiple people, by yourself, didn't seem to exist. 

"What was that, sweetie?" Oh, there was that somewhat more forceful tone with a barely concealed threat, "I couldn't quite hear you." 

"Nothing, Father." 

"If you say so. Well, I'll see you soon. Do stay safe!" 

He didn't wait for an answer, hanging up up the instant he finished his sentence. Glaring daggers at the piece of plastic on the counter, you snatched a towel and started drying the massive mound of dishes. Like hell you were just going to go ahead and rush to your Father. You were gonna wait till' the next person showed up, and you wouldn't wait idly. Fuck that. Anything to stall talking to your Father. 

Unfortunately, he must have sent the guy before calling you, because you'd only dried and out away a grand total of six forks, a spoon and a knife before the door was pushed open. 

The guy he walked in was just like everyone else in the company. Confident and full of themselves, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans and hair slicked back with so much gel you could see small globs of it here and there. You scoffed, drying your hands on the towel before throwing it at his face. 

"Hey!" 

He pulled it from his face, and before he continue that sentence, his gaze fell upon the skeleton sitting at the table. The words died in his throat. 

Making sure to stay as far away from the table in the center of the room as possible, you walked over to him, and threw a quick 'Have Fun' in his direction. 

________________________________________

 

Pushing the door to your Father's apartment, you felt like you were some poor and unsuspecting victim in a horror movie. Despite the horrid feeling that was constricting your chest, the atmosphere of the room was light, and somewhat 'happy.' Quiet voices drifted from the dining room, and you only recognized that of your Father and Mother. Her voice made your chest tighten more, to the point where it was beginning to feel hard to breathe.

She spotted you first, jumping from her seat and rushing over to embrace you, though it lasted for only a moment before she pulled back to kiss both of your cheeks. After that, she moved away from you as though she'd been physically burned.

"Darling! You're here, finally! We were starting to think you'd gotten lost along the way!"

A few chuckles were shared by the people sitting around the table. As expected, Father sat at the head of it, leaning back in the cushioned chair. The seat next to him was empty, and where mother had been previously sitting. Gathered around the table were a few monsters. Three wolf like ones, to be exact. 

All of them dressed formally, and the faintest prickle of embarrassment and shame ran through you at the sight of them. 

The two males wore suits, the older one wearing one that was a dark blue, with a bright red tie that stood out against the white shirt underneath. His fur was a faded brown, while the younger was covered in dark green fur that reminded you of mouldy things. It didn't really match the white suit he wore. The female wore a bright red dress with plenty of necklaces around her throat, and her fur was a light shade of grey, that was almost white but just not quite there. 

_*Like Cross' eye-light-_

She gave you a wide smile, as did the male, though his wasn't as big, and far from genuine. Their son's eyes wondered without shame, and he gave you a grin that spoke of ill intentions.

"_____! This is Mr and Mrs Heilmore, and their son, Ben."

Your mother gestured for you to greet them, and you walked over quietly. Mr. Heilmore held out his hand, and you shook it.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Oh aren't you the sweetest little thing!"

Mrs. Heilmore rose from her seat and pulled you into a hug, leaned back to shake your hand roughly. Her husband cleared his throat and she let go, giving you an apologetic look as she sat back down.

Your gaze fell on the younger wolf monster, and reached out to take his hand. What was meant to be a handshake ended up with him turning your hand over and kissing the back of it, and tossing a wink at you. 

"I'm Ben. Though you can call me whatever you want."

You reeled back, confused and disgusted, and your face flushed with anger. The creepy son of a bitch! You would prefer to call him a mutt than whatever he had in mind. Whatever you went to say was cut off by your Mother.

"Aw, she's blushing! Good to see you to are already getting along, with how often you two will be seeing each other."

You gave her a confused look, raising an eyebrow slightly. She giggled at that, though the sound didn't match the expression in her eyes.

"Your Father didn't tell you? Silly, Mr. Heilmore is head of security! And Ben here, is your future husband!"

The world seemed to stop, and suddenly, the feeling in your chest seemed to tighten until it physically hurt. Then there was a sickening crack that you both felt and heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did mention the updates would be slow, didn't I? Yeah. I'll try to update a bit more often, but I can't promise anything.
> 
> Also, did I mention that this would probably be the opposite of a slow burn?

**Author's Note:**

> I need a name for the companies/groups/whatever the fuck you want to call them.


End file.
